


Glorfindel Resists

by AllThatWeSeeOrSeem



Series: Stories for Elrond [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Desire, Drunken Confessions, Friendship, Intoxication, Loyalty, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThatWeSeeOrSeem/pseuds/AllThatWeSeeOrSeem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel finds Elrond drunk late one night, and Elrond makes Glorfindel an offer that he knows he simply must refuse. It isn't easy to do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glorfindel Resists

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar, it's because I did have it (briefly) posted before as a chapter in another work. I took it down when I found out about the "series" option.

It is the light which pours forth from beneath the door, in defiance of the late hour, that has Glorfindel curious.

He raps softly on the wooden frame, but the reply which comes back to him is rough and muddled. He recognizes the voice, though, and it is that recognition alone which permits him to push open the door.

Elrond sits in one of two chairs placed before the fire, which burns low and has obviously not been stoked nor fed in quite some time.

Glorfindel frowns. ‘Sat’ was perhaps not the most accurate of words. Elrond slumped. He had slid down in the chair, until his head tipped forward to rest nearly on his chest, and his legs stuck out in front of him, splayed wide. He does not look up as Glorfindel enters the room and closes the door behind him.

“What have you – oh, the Dorwinion.” Glorfindel eyes the discarded wine cask laying broken open on the stone floor, half under Elrond’s chair. “Poor barrel. Erestor will not be pleased.”

“It is my wine.”

“Yes, and you are drunk on it.”

Elrond’s gaze is cold and hard, his eyes narrow in suspicion, “and what are you up to, so late at night, winding your way like a ghost through my halls? Coming back from a lover’s bed, perhaps?”

“You know I have no lover. It was merely another nightmare of fire and flame that sent me from my bed; the air is cool tonight, it is refreshing. ”

“Will you not take one?” It is an old argument that had always seemed like friendly banter between them, but tonight it feels wrong to Glorfindel, the air in the room tense.

“A lover? And who do you this time suggest I take to my bed?”

Elrond’s gaze falls back into his wine cup, and his voice takes on a tone of forced indifference, “you may take me, if you like.”

Of all the answers he had ever been given, both those said in honest effort to be helpful and those thrown out in jest, this was certainly a first.

Glorfindel scoffs and tries to make light of it, though the expression on Elrond's face tells him it was meant otherwise, “I hardly think so, you are wed.”

“Ah, yes, my wife. And where is she, Glorfindel?”

“She is safe, and alive, which we are all thankful for.” He keeps his tone steady, but Glorfindel no longer knows where he stands with his friend and lord, not when he is in the grips of drunkenness, which is a rare enough thing.

“Glorfindel, my friend. You alone know how long it has been since I have known the company of another. I’m sure most think I have taken a lover by now, the rules be damned, and do not hold it against me. Most would do the same if they were forced to live a thousand years without their mate. They have sympathy. Have you no sympathy for me, me friend?”

“My friend, you are very drunk. I have sympathy, you know this. But I also know you do not truly wish to break your vows to Celebrian.”

“Mm…I do though.” He drains his wine cup in one swallow, eyeing Glorfindel over the rim.

“No, my lord, I do not believe it. My loyalty is to my lady, though she is no longer on these shores, just as much as it is to you. I will not lay with you, my lord.”

Elrond’s tone turns contemplative, “Your hair is so much like hers. Hers had more of a curl, true, but sometimes I catch sight of the top of your head where it is bent over a book and my blood runs cold.”

“Oh, my friend.”

“I burn, Glorfindel. My body burns with need and I have no way to quell the flames. My own touch does nothing any more.”

Elrond looks so truly miserable that Glorfindel feels himself waver, just a little, before firmly suppressing his desire to help ease his dearest friend’s pain.

“You must endure, my friend, you must be strong as Celebrian would want you to be.”

“I do not want to be strong, I want to bed you!” Elrond snaps loudly.

“Elrond!” the scandalous tone is only half inflected, and Glorfindel knows he must remove himself as a temptation, or risk being caught up in it, “I am leaving.”

“No! Do not leave! Glorfindel, I beg you!”

“You need rest, in the morning you will be embarrassed and we shall laugh about this.”

“Stay with me tonight. I will not touch you, but let me hold you, let me run my fingers through your hair. Let me kiss you.”

The tone is almost seductive, but it edges on desperate, and it is the wild look in Elrond’s eyes that finally convinces Glorfindel that the half-elf is not in his right mind.

He shakes his head sadly, golden hair swaying, “No. No, my lord, no. Because I do not think you would stop at that, and I do not think I could bring myself to stop you should you go too far.”

Elrond’s wine cup goes skittering across the floor, “you are no friend to me, Balrog Slayer, and you are cruel.”

“You know that is not the truth, Elrond, and you know it is you who are cruel to call me such when it is the one title I hate more than anything. You are a petulant drunk. Goodnight, my lord.”

“No. No!” Elrond launches himself out of the chair, his movements surprisingly agile considering the volume of strong wine he has drunk, and both of them go crashing to the floor.

Glorfindel is the taller and stronger of the two, but Elrond is on top and has surprise to his advantage. He crashes their lips together in a kiss that is violent and clumsy, and it isn’t until Glorfindel bites hard and purposefully on his invading tongue that he finally pulls back with a growl.

Glorfindel uses that moment to roll them over, pinning his lord’s hands to the floor on either side of his head. Elrond thrashes beneath him as though possessed, and Glorfindel can feel the hard length of his arousal against his own hips. He holds on, and waits.

Eventually the half-elf calms somewhat, breathing hard and fast. His movements slow until just his hips are in motion, thrusting shallowly up against Glorfindel’s body.

“Please.” Elrond murmurs, “Please, my friend.”

Glorfindel lifts himself away from Elrond somewhat, unwilling to spur his drunken lord on with the knowledge that Glorfindel, too, has involuntarily grown hard thanks to the movement against his traitorous body.

This desperate, mewling being is so far from the even tempered and sensible lord of Imladris that Glorfindel is accustomed to. He knows that by morning the wine will have run its course, and whatever passions Elrond fights will be once more hidden behind kindness and wisdom. But tonight, Elrond is laid bare before him, and Glorfindel can find only sympathy and acceptance and love in his heart for him.

Below him, Elrond’s eyes have grown heavy-lidded. Glorfindel eases himself up, pulling his lord to stand as well, though Elrond leans heavily against him.

There is a low couch against the far wall, and Glorfindel steers them towards it.

Elrond all but collapses into it, boneless – save for one – and though his hands reach for Glorfindel as the elf retreats, he lets him go with little protest.

Glorfindel stops only to retrieve the remains of the wine cask, rendered useless now, and push it into the fire to help heat the room before making his escape.

Outside, the cool air has turned cold. Glorfindel ensures the door is firmly shut before leaning his back against the stones of the wall. He presses the heel of his hand against his arousal, taking great gulps of air and willing it to fade.

There is a reason he has not taken a lover, and by now that reason is slipping into a drunken sleep. Not for the first time he curses his deeply ingrained sense of loyalty, his unwillingness to do wrong. It's enough to make him long for morning, when all this will be behind them, if Elrond even remembers it at all.

Something tells Glorfindel that he will.


End file.
